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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041946">Runway and Sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelledink/pseuds/spelledink'>spelledink</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Devil Wears Prada (2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Death, F/F, Flying, Mirandy Pile of Stuff 2020, Romance, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:41:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelledink/pseuds/spelledink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda Priestly is an officer in the Air Transport Auxiliary, during World War II. She has feelings for her subordinate, Andy Sachs. A near tragedy reveals her secret, and Andy's.</p><p>This story is for the Mirandy Pile of Stuff 2020 Wednesday Prompts (week 2)<br/>Picture prompt: Andy and Miranda in aviator’s uniforms.</p><p>The picture just got me thinking about women fliers during WWII. <br/>Go figure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mirandy Pile of Stuff 2020 Wednesday Prompts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Runway and Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story features the women of the Air Transport Auxiliary, a real civilian organization that ferried warplanes to the RAF during the Second World War. These women were very skilled, and courageous. Flying in dangerous conditions in unarmed airplanes. They came from many countries, and walks of life. Many died in their service.</p><p>The story, of course, is a fictional romance.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Miranda leads her flight on a mission. She is saved from death, at a terrible cost.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong> <em>Runway and Sky</em> </strong> </p><p>
  <strong>A Devil Wears Prada fanfiction</strong>
</p><p><strong>This story is a nonprofit work of fanfiction</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>The Devil Wears Prada is the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>For the Mirandy Pile of Stuff 2020 Wednesday Prompts (week 2) </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Picture prompt: Andy and Miranda in aviator’s uniforms</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Flight Captain Miranda Priestly sat at the wheel of her jeep. Near the Brooklands airfield. Combing her fingers through silver hair. Cobalt eyes narrowed, deep in thought. She shook her head, banishing her unease at today’s mission. A long-range delivery to Northumberland.</p><p>She’d driven 40 minutes. From the Air Transport Auxiliary’s headquarters, at White Waltham. Here to transport new Hawker Hurricane fighters. Miranda looked down, staring at the winged patch sewn to the left side of her uniform blouse. She’d been with the ATA since its beginning, 1940. Two years ago. Ferrying bombers and fighter planes to bases across England and Scotland. Braving Luftwaffe fighters and antiaircraft fire alike. Especially during the Blitz. A dangerous business, despite her supposed “noncombat” role.</p><p>She walked to the nearby airfield, transfer papers for the Hurricane clutched in one hand. She approached the flight line, waving to the ground crew servicing a new fighter. Hers, for the time being. Crew chief Angus Finlay approached, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Cap’n Priestly,” he said, nodding at the plane. “Ready to take this lovely off our hands?” Miranda smirked, handing over the papers. “Where to today?” she asked. The chief grinned. “RAF Acklington,” he said. “Another batch for patrol duty.”</p><p>Miranda looked down the line, seeing two familiar faces. Her companions on this trip. A willowy blonde, hair in a French braid, gray eyes warm. Jadwiga Zieliński, a Pole from Kraków. She nodded to Miranda. “Dzień dobry,” she said. “Ah, good morning.”</p><p>The other woman waved to Miranda. Titian hair loose about her face, falling to her shoulders. Her second, flight lieutenant Emily Charlton. A grin stretched across her face, blue eyes sparkling, “We're waiting on the Yank,” she said.</p><p>Miranda glared at the redhead. She walked past the ground crew, entering the nearby hangar. Opening the locker room door. A woman stood there. Auburn curls sideswept to one shoulder. Slate blue uniform blouse unbuttoned. The collar of her white dress shirt open, tie hanging loose about it. The youngest of her fliers. Third officer Andy Sachs.</p><p>
  <em>Andréa</em>
</p><p>Miranda held her breath, eyes lingering on the young officer. Drinking in the brunette’s beauty. Her long, graceful legs. The swell of her breast, beneath the fabric of her shirt. Full lips, a dusky rose, set in an adorable pout. Her eyes, rich chocolate, full of consternation.</p><p>Miranda stood, as if entranced. Eyes soft, unguarded, full of care. Her cool mask fallen, for a moment. A warm flush spreading across her cheeks. Wondering what it would be like to taste Andréa’s lips.</p><p>Andréa was young, lovely. Her warmth and kindness so alluring. Drawing others to her light. Even Miranda. Her thoughts treacherous. Wanting what she could not have. Things she could only hide.</p><p>
  <em>Like desire.</em>
</p><p>Miranda sighed. No time to dwell upon the girl. Or her <em>feelings</em>.</p><p>She arched an eyebrow at the brunette. “Do move at a glacial pace, Andréa,” she said. “You know how I love to wait.” Andy looked up, meeting Miranda’s gaze. She averted her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry Miranda,” she said. “It won’t happen again.” A wince of pain crossed her face, a sharp hiss falling from her lips.</p><p>Miranda frowned, concern flitting across her face. “Are you all right?” she asked. Andy nodded. “It's a headache,” she said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Miranda shook her head. “You can’t fly if you’re sick, Andréa,” she said.</p><p>Andy shrugged. “I’m fine,” she said. “You don’t have to worry, Miranda. I can do this.” Miranda stepped closer, placing one hand on Andy’s brow. “You need to take care of yourself,” she murmured. “Are you sure you’re alright?”</p><p>Andy looked up, her eyes meeting Miranda’s. Heated brown resting there, then falling to the her lips. Andy stepped away, awkward. Breaking eye contact. A sudden blush climbing her cheeks. “How are Caroline and Cassidy?” she asked. Miranda’s smiled, grateful for the distraction. “They’re with my great-aunt, in Ireland,” she said. “A small fishing village, Carnlough. It’s safer there. No air raids.”</p><p>The brunette’s voice lowered, gentle. “You must miss them,” she said. Miranda nodded. “I do,” she replied. “But it’s better this way.” Andy glanced at Miranda, curious. “What about their father?” she asked. Miranda grimaced, her expression souring. “I haven’t seen him in four years,” she said. “Neither have the girls. Not that I’ve wanted to, since the divorce.”</p><p>Andy grabbed Miranda’s hand, their fingers twining. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “One day, this will be over, and you’ll see them again.” Miranda’s voice dropped, an earnest whisper. “I hope so,” she said.</p><p>Andy took her leather flight jacket from a nearby bench, putting it on. She smiled at Miranda. “I guess we better go,” she said, heading towards the door. The pair walked out of the hangar, approaching the waiting Hurricanes.</p><p>Andy waved to Jadwiga and Emily, grabbing the parachute beside her plane. She put it on, the straps digging into her shoulders. She stepped onto the fighter’s wing, swinging one leg inside, entering the cockpit. Andy sat, securing the safety belt, then reached up, pulling the canopy closed. She pulled on her leather flight helmet, adjusting the goggles. Her right hand toggled the starter. The engine woke with a throaty roar, eager for flight.</p><p>She looked forward. Watching the others roll down the grass runway. Miranda first, her fighter lifting off, landing gear retracting as it did. Emily and Jadwiga followed. Andy released the brakes, nudging the throttle forward. The field a blur beneath as she gained speed. She pulled the control stick back, the fighter rising. Wheels coming up as she left the ground. Lost in a familiar joy. Knowing only runway and sky, the engine’s song, and the beating of her heart.</p><hr/><p>Miranda’s flight headed north, along the channel coast. Stretched out, in a finger-four formation. The sun high overhead. Clouds a snowy carpet, far below. Miranda sighed, enjoying the scenery. It had been a good day. Clear weather, no surprises. Only forty miles from Acklington, and a well-deserved rest. Once they handed the Hurricanes over, they’d have some down time. Then catch a Dakota transport out in the morning.</p><p>Miranda’s stomach growled, reminding her of something else. Food. There’d be a pub or two in town. She could use a good meal. Some pan haggerty, with bacon and egg. Her mouth watered, thinking of it. The thinly sliced potatoes, layered with onion and cheddar. A drink, too. A pint of brown ale, or a whiskey. Some company would be nice, too. Miranda smiled, her thoughts drifting to Andréa. Wondering if the brunette would join her, if she asked. If she’d think it was a date.</p><p>
  <em>If she’d know that’s what I want.</em>
</p><p>The two of them, in some Chelsea club. The lights down low. Dancing close, lost to the world. Each look, each touch, the sweetest torture. Trembling on the edge of a kiss.</p><p>Miranda shook her head. It was a beautiful dream. But only that. It could never be. She couldn’t take the risk. Or ask Andréa to. It wouldn’t be fair.</p><p>
  <em>They’d never let us serve, if someone found out.</em>
</p><p>Miranda shook her head. Banishing her errant thoughts. She scanned the horizon. A sudden glare catching her attention. The glint of sun on metal. Four fighters, above and behind her, at 6 o’clock, closing fast. A schwarm of four Bf-109s, dark gray. She snarled, keying her radio. “Enemies inbound, on our six,” she said. “Break formation, now!”</p><p>Miranda rolled her fighter, inverting it. Diving, in a half loop, towards the ground. A fighter rose towards her, guns flaring. The Hurricane shuddered, slugs tearing its fuselage. Shattered glass slicing Miranda’s cheek. She watched, helpless, as the enemy closed in. A voice crackled over the radio. Raw, desperate. “Hold on!” it said.</p><p>
  <em>Andréa.</em>
</p><p>A mottled shape flashed before her, earth and dark green. A Hurricane. Striking the enemy’s tail, shearing it off. The 109 spun, tumbling to the ground. The other plane rolled over, a dark plume streaming from its engine. Left wing shattered, falling in a slow arc. Lost beneath the clouds.</p><p>Gone.</p><p>Because of her.</p><p>Miranda stared, eyes wide. At the contrail of smoke, leading down. The last of Andréa. Fading, scattered to the wind. Erased, in a moment. As though she’d never been. She banked her Hurricane, coaxing the damaged plane northeast. Hands shaking on the controls. Heedless of her tears. Guilt, a knife in her heart. Words repeating in her head. An accusation.</p><p>
  <em>It’s your fault.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dzień dobry=Good morning</p><p>Jadwiga=“Yahd-vi-gah”</p><p>Aerial ramming was a real thing during the Second World War, in all areas of combat. Aviators used this as a last ditch tactic to destroy enemies or save civilian targets. It was often fatal, but quite a few pilots survived by bailing out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Losses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Miranda takes Andy's loss hard. Jadwiga shares her past, and helps her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Miłość jest miłością=Love is love</p><p>Moja miłość=My love.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miranda sat in her room. Alone. Twilight’s last glow, orange and pink, shining through her window. She stared at a manila folder. Its contents spilled across her desk. The dark oak of its surface. The fragments of a life too short, lost too soon. Irreplaceable.</p><p>
  <em>Andréa.</em>
</p><p>Her pilot’s license. Flight authorization card. Logbook. A letter, sealed, addressed to her parents. And pictures. So many pictures. Some tattered, dogeared, yellowed with age. Frozen moments, already fading, of the woman she’d known.</p><p>
  <em>And loved.</em>
</p><p>Miranda picked one up. Staring at the girl. Dark hair falling to her shoulders, in soft pin curls. A cocky smile upon her lips. Chocolate eyes shining. Navy dungarees matched with a black floral top. A pair of white canvas shoes upon her feet. Leaning against a Laird Speedwing biplane. Its fuselage black, wings snow white.</p><p>Miranda stared at the photo. Her feelings welling up. Dark with regret. Of chances squandered, thrown away. </p><p>If only she’d done something, said something. Made the tiniest gesture. Let Andréa know how she felt. How much she cared. They could’ve had something together. Something good.</p><p>
  <em>Why didn’t I tell her? Why didn’t I let her know?</em>
</p><p>A knock sounded at her door. Miranda looked up. A familiar face opening the door. Jadwiga. She stepped into the room. Eyes soft, an apologetic smile on her lips. Miranda shook her head. “Jadwiga,” she asked. “What is it? Why are you here?” Jadwiga shrugged. “I'm worried about you,” she said. “I know you’re hurting.”</p><p>Miranda glared at Jadwiga, her eyes growing cold. “What do you mean?” she said. Jadwiga sighed. “About Andy,” she said. Miranda’s jaw tightened. “You should leave,” she said. Jadwiga shook her head. She moved close, reaching out. Touching the picture in Miranda’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know what it’s like. To lose someone you love.”</p><p>Miranda’s breath caught. Stunned, her anger forgotten. “How do you know?” she asked. Gray eyes grew thoughtful, “It was in your eyes,” Jadwiga said. “The way you looked at her. Like something precious. A treasure, for your heart alone.” She smiled, lips curving fondly. “It reminded me of her,” she said. “Of how I looked at <em>Lidia</em>.”</p><p>Miranda’s eyes widened. “Lidia?” she asked. Jadwiga nodded. “Lidia Leśniak, my best friend,” she said. “We grew up together, in the same village. Went to school together. Even learned to fly.” Jadwiga paused. Eyes soft, lost in memory. “We… we fell in <em>love</em>.”</p><p>A smile ghosted across Miranda’s lips. “You understand then,” she said. Jadwiga nodded, her voice a tender whisper. “Miłość jest miłością,” she said. “Love is love.”</p><p>Miranda put the picture down. Rising to her feet. “And the war?” she asked. Jadwiga shrugged. “We were dispatch pilots, when it started,” she said. “Delivering messages for the general staff. A month after the invasion, Warsaw fell.”</p><p>Miranda’s brow furrowed, darting a look at the blonde. “How did you get out?” she asked. Jadwiga sighed. “We took a trainer from our airfield. Tried to escape.” She shook her head. “I should have known better.”</p><p>“What happened?” Miranda asked. Tears welled in Jadwiga’s eyes. “They shot us down,” she said. “Lidia… she died.”</p><p>Miranda drew in a sharp breath. Eyes wide in understanding. Jadwiga <em>knew</em> how she felt. What she’d lost. What it was like. The emptiness, the pain inside. The desolation, tearing at her heart.</p><p>
  <em>Yet here she stood, offering comfort.</em>
</p><p>Miranda’s eyes dropped, humbled. “At least you told her,” she said. “At least she knew. Andréa’s gone, and I never said anything!”</p><p>Jadwiga stared at Miranda. “Did she really need the words?” she asked. “I think she knew. Knew, and felt the same. That’s why she saved you. Why she gave her life. Because she loved you.”</p><p>Miranda’s face crumpled. Her voice ragged, a forlorn ghost. “What will I do, without her?” she asked. “How do you bear it, with Lidia gone?” Jadwiga paused, silent. Something echoing deep within. Miranda’s pain familiar. Summoning a face, beloved. Eyes, forest green, sparkling with delight. Lips curved in a playful grin. Hair, ash brown, framing her lovely face.</p><p>
  <em>Moja miłość.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My love.</em>
</p><p>Jadwiga touched one hand to her breast. Her voice tender, bittersweet. “She’s not,” she said. “She’s here, inside my heart. And I’ll never be alone, not really.” Her voice lowered, eyes glowing with conviction. “I know I’ll see her again, my Lidia. I can feel it. So, I’ll wait for her. No matter how long it takes. Until we meet again.”</p><p>The door opened, a woman. Her expression awkward. Emily. “Miranda, we’ve got a radar contact. A single plane, incoming,” She said. “Don’t know if it’s one of ours.” Miranda nodded, following Emily out the door, Jadwiga close behind.</p><p>Miranda walked towards the field, eyes scanning the sky. The muted hum of an engine, to the east. A small biplane nearing. A Tiger Moth. Yellow and black, RAF roundel on its side. It glided towards the ground. Bouncing as its wheels touched down, rumbling across the airstrip. It braked, taxiing close. It slowed to a stop, engines cut, coming to a halt.</p><p>A woman rose from the cockpit, hopping to the ground. A flight jacket, coffee lambskin, clinging to her curves. Wool trousers, black, tight on thigh and seat. She pulled the helmet from her head, releasing a cascade of curls. She turned, dark hair a banner upon the wind. Miranda’s breath caught. Her eyes upon the girl. The form and face so familiar. Beloved. Lost.</p><p>Andréa.</p><p>Miranda turned, a sob falling from her lips. She rushed to her quarters. Andy stood still, watching her leave. Confusion etched across her features. Jadwiga stepped close, her words a soft rebuke. “She thought she lost you,” she said. “Before she’d even <em>had</em> you. Now go.” Andy nodded, following Miranda to her bungalow.</p><p>The door slammed behind Miranda. Echoing through her room. She sank to the floor, tears splattering its concrete.</p><p>
  <em>She’s alive.</em>
</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice trembling, a fervent prayer.</p><p>
  <em>For protecting her, for keeping her safe. For letting me love her, and bringing her back to me.</em>
</p><p>The door opened. Footsteps grew close, stopping. A figure knelt beside her. Strong arms pulling her close. Warm lips pressed to her temple. Andréa.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said.</p><p>Miranda leaned into her, surrendering to the embrace. Drinking in her eyes. Dark mocha, flecked with gold. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “That you were gone. That it was too late. That I’d never get to <em>tell</em> you.”</p><p>Andy looked at Miranda, words faltering. A sheen of tears, bright, within her eyes. “Miranda, I…” she started. Miranda hushed her, shaking her head. “Let me finish,” she said. “Let me say it, please.” She brushed her lips across Andy’s. “I love you,” she whispered.</p><p>Andy kissed Miranda, soft at first. Parting her lips with a questing tongue. Feeling Miranda respond. Hands fisting in dark hair. Unwilling to part. Pressing closer, forgoing breath. Breaking apart, their cheeks stained crimson.</p><p>Andy stared at the woman in her arms. Her voice hushed, full of wonder. “I love you, Miranda,” she said. “I love you. And all I want is to be yours. No matter what tomorrow brings.”</p><p>Miranda held Andy close, breathing in her in. The fragrance of her hair, the warmth of her skin. “I want you,” she said. “Only you.” She shook her head. “I don’t care who knows. Not anymore. Even if they take the sky from us. As long as you’re beside me.” Andy smiled. “Always,” she said, lips seeking Miranda’s.</p><p>Her heart ecstatic, taking flight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jadwiga goes on a solo mission. She finds her home, and heart.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cześć kochanie=Hello, love</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jadwiga walked towards the airstrip. The sun’s first rays playing upon the field, orange and gold. A DeHavilland Mosquito waited before her. A light bomber, its seats side by side. A delivery for RAF Wick. A shout rose from behind her. A woman, waving, auburn hair tousled, another by her side.</p><p>
  <em>Andy. Miranda.</em>
</p><p>Jadwiga smiled, raising one hand.</p><p>
  <em>They had a chance now. For love, a life. Some happiness, together. Despite the world, its wars and intolerance.</em>
</p><p>Jadwiga turned, nearing the Mosquito. She shrugged on her flight jacket, tossing a wave to the ground crew. She climbed the ladder to the cockpit, entering from below. Jagwiga strapped into her seat. She pushed the starter. The left, then right propellers spinning up as the engines woke. She pushed the throttle forward, moving onto the runway. Gaining speed as she did. Pulling the control yoke up as the tail rose, lifting off.</p><p>Jadwiga headed north. The Mosquito’s engines a throaty purr. The sky clear, a bright azure overhead. Immeasurably high. Sunlight glancing off the plane’s wings. It was beautiful. How she’d loved days like this. Flying with Lidia, in an open cockpit.</p><p>
  <em>Dark hair a messy tangle, her smile bright, so beautiful.</em>
</p><p>Something jarred the Mosquito. Rocking it to the side. Jadwiga turned, looking back. A snarl upon her lips. She saw them, dropping from behind. Out of the sun’s glare. Enemy fighters. They fired again, slugs ravaging her starboard wing. Jadwiga pushed the Mosquito into a dive, hoping to gain speed.</p><p>One fighter followed, nose cannon barking. Something struck Jadwiga. Low, a heavy fist. A scream tore from her throat. She looked down, in shock. Gaping at the sight. Blood, bright red, pumping from her side. Jadwiga’s vision hazed white, as she fell against the controls. Then darkness.</p><p>The Mosquito heeled over, twisting as it fell, far below.</p><hr/><p>Jadwiga’s eyes fluttered open. Her thoughts muddled, confused. She looked down at herself. No wounds, no blood. Her flight jacket unmarked. She scanned her surroundings. The cockpit lay still, its damage erased. The plane silent, frozen, no sound of wind or engine. Time standing still. Caught between moments of a heart’s last beat.</p><p>A voice spoke, from beside her. “Cześć kochanie,” it said.</p><p>
  <em>Hello, love.</em>
</p><p>Jadwiga turned, eyes falling on a familiar face. A woman, sitting in the copilot’s seat. Clad in a flight suit, tan gabardine. Lips curving in a gentle smile. Her hair a windswept bob, ash brown. Eyes, forest green, a gentle fire.</p><p>
  <em>Lidia.</em>
</p><p>“It’s time to go home,” she said.</p><p>Jadwiga’s breath caught. “Home?” she asked. Lidia nodded. “Yes,” she said. She leaned close. Taking Jadwiga’s lips in a gentle kiss. A promise of things, yet to come. Of love, reclaimed, forevermore.</p><p>Jadwiga hesitated, her voice a whisper. “Is it heaven?” she asked. Lidia smiled. “With <em>you</em> it is,” she said.</p><p>Lidia pushed the starter, the engines turning over. Propellers spinning, in a silver arc. “Go ahead,” she said. Jadwiga reached out, taking the controls. Meeting Lidia’s eyes, her heart alight.</p><p>She pushed the stick forward. Diving, the throttle wide. Gaining speed, then pitching up. High, high, into the light. Drawn on currents insubstantial. Becoming one with it. Dissolving in its warmth, its infinite care.</p><p>Their journey just beginning.</p>
  </div></div>
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